


why am i lonely for lonesome love? (why am i lonely?)

by knoxoursavior



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 09:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior
Summary: Sing is lucky, so lucky that he gets to see his friends like this. After everything that’s happened, after everything they’ve gone through, after all the pain they’ve had to endure—finally, they get to be happy. Finally, they get to have what they deserve. Finally, they get to spend the rest of lives together.But there’s an ache in Sing’s chest that burns quietly. It’s familiar, almost feels like an old friend on his best days. Sing knows there was a time when it didn’t plague him every hour of the day, when he was just a kid with too many things to worry about other than feelings, but now it’s taken over his entire being whether he likes it or not.Or: Ash and Eiji get married, and Sing should be happy, but he isn't, not entirely





	why am i lonely for lonesome love? (why am i lonely?)

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to [mamorumeowno](https://twitter.com/mamorumeowno) for listening to me rant abt this and [obsessivelyintrigued](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelyintrigued/pseuds/obsessivelyintrigued) for sprinting with me and supporting me through this whole fic lmao ilu guys

Ash and Eiji’s first dance is beautiful.

From start to finish, they dance with their arms around each other, with their eyes locked and their happiness showing so clearly on their faces. They’re so obviously in love with each other, so obviously meant to be together, and just being here, bearing witness to their union, is a privilege.

Sing is lucky, _so_ _lucky_ that he gets to see his friends like this. After everything that’s happened, after everything they’ve gone through, after all the pain they’ve had to endure—finally, they get to be happy. Finally, they get to have what they deserve. Finally, they get to spend the rest of lives together.

But there’s an ache in Sing’s chest that burns quietly. It’s familiar, almost feels like an old friend on his best days. Sing knows there was a time when it didn’t plague him every hour of the day, when he was just a kid with too many things to worry about other than  _ feelings _ , but now it’s taken over his entire being whether he likes it or not.

And—well. Sing doesn’t really know. If he likes this feeling in his chest or not, that is. But it’s  _ wrong _ . He knows that much.

It was wrong when his concern for Eiji morphed into something hopeless, something unmentionable. It was wrong when he fell into a well of Ash’s words, when he started to think of  _ maybe, if he were alive, we could have— _

It was definitely wrong to let those feelings linger even after Ash came back from the dead, after Eiji found his way back into the arms of the person he loves, the person he couldn’t let go of even after seven years of grieving, the person who holds his heart and soul, who could have his entire being if he ever asked for it. But Sing let that feeling remain where it has his heart in a vice-grip. He let it fester, let it eat away at his heart until there’s nothing left for himself.

Nothing but a gaping hole in his chest that Sing has no choice but to fill with scraps that Ash and Eiji throw his way.

No.

That’s unfair.

Ash and Eiji have no idea what Sing feels. Or Sing hopes so at least, because it’s better that way. He’s willing to endure the pain if it means he gets to bask in Ash and Eiji’s light, willing to live with it if it means that he can stay and drink up what they’ll allow him to have. He knows the better choice would be to distance himself from them, to save himself from this constant ache in his chest, has heard as much from Yut-lung as well, but—

But he can’t. He  _ can’t _ .

Even now, as he watches Ash dip Eiji to the dying notes of their first-dance song, even now, as he swallows against the lump that forms in his throat when Ash bends down to brush his lips against the line of Eiji’s throat, as he wills himself to relax because he can’t show any sign of what he feels, can’t let anyone find out—

Even now, he welcomes the twinge in his chest. Even now, he lets himself look, lets himself take in more and more of this moment that will no doubt be a regular occurence in his dreams and daydreams for the next few months. Maybe for the rest of his life.

It’s only when the bubble around Ash and Eiji has finally burst does the ache subside, but only for a moment.

Ash’s gaze shifts from Eiji to the crowd until it meets Sing’s, and there’s something in his bright green eyes that makes Sing freeze, makes his heart race, makes bile rise in throat. He wants to run away, wants to look anywhere but Ash and Eiji, but he’s stuck in place, sucked in by the immeasurable depth of Ash’s eyes.

_ He’s mine, _ they seem to tell Sing.  _ He’s mine, only mine, he belongs only in my arms. _

The yielding stretch of Eiji’s flushed skin screams the same thing too, and so do Eiji’s arms, wrapped possessively around Ash’s waist.

Or maybe that’s just Sing projecting. It doesn’t really matter. He can’t have them either way.

There have only been a couple of times when the ache in Sing’s chest has become so extreme, so unbearable that it’s hard to breathe, and really, this one has been a long time coming. The last time he felt so trapped was when he found out that Ash had a ring, that he wanted to propose to Eiji, but now—

But now Ash and Eiji are married. They’re  _ married _ .

Sing should be happy for them. He  _ is _ . He’s so, so,  _ so _ happy for them. But—

But he can’t help it, can’t help feel like his world is crumbling down around him because this cements Sing’s fate, signs him off to a lifetime of this neverending pain, and he’ll have no one but himself to blame because he’s the one who chose this path. He’s the one who’s so desperate to stay in Ash and Eiji’s orbit that he willingly destroys himself with every moment that he spends looking in on them from the outside.

Sing has gotten so good at pushing down his own feelings, at standing on the sidelines, at clenching his hands into fists just so he can stop himself from reaching out, from reaching for  _ them _ . But his stress and his heartbreak have piled up, it seems, and there’s nothing he wants to do more than  _ get out, get out, run away _ .

So he does.

He barely hears the thunder of applause, barely gets his face to work so he can paste on a smile, barely figures out how to walk out without giving himself away. But he’s drunk a couple of glasses of champagne since the night started, so he sways on his feet a little, stumbles around with every other step, waves away concerned questions and steadying hands on his shoulders. He walks away until the music has faded, until he’s all alone and he can finally fall to his knees on the ground, until he can curl into a ball and open his mouth in a silent scream because  _ it hurts, it hurts, god, it hurts so much _ .

The corners of his eyes sting and his heart clenches in his chest and his throat feels like it’s  _ burning _ . He feels his cheeks getting wet with tears, has to start breathing through his mouth because his nose is already running. He can’t see anything but the oranges and the reds of the sunset that paint the world beneath Sing’s feet, blurred by the tears that fill his eyes over and over again.

He hasn’t cried like this in so long, hasn’t  _ allowed  _ himself to. But now he lets himself cry. Just for a few moments. Just for a little while. Just until the tears run out and he has no more left to give for tonight.

He cries and cries and keeps on crying. Every time he thinks the tears are about to subside, he remembers something from the wedding or the reception or all those months he spent helping Ash and Eiji plan this day. It  _ hurts _ and he  _ hates _ this, hates that he’s in this hopeless, pointless situation, hates that he knows a way out of it, that he’ll never,  _ ever _ take it because he’d rather die from this pain in his heart than have to willingly walk away from the two people he looks up to the most, the two people he wants to reach out for the most.

And this—

This doesn’t count as walking away. He isn’t walking away. He’s just taking a break, just giving himself time to breathe, to reset the switch in his brain that helps him brush off anything that could hurt him.

He’s just letting everything out, letting all his unshed tears flow so that later, he can wipe away the evidence of his weakness from his cheeks, try to salvage his wrinkled shirt and his messy hair. Later, he can walk back into Ash and Eiji’s reception and pretend that nothing ever happened. He’ll be just in time for dinner, just in time to see them feed each other a piece of their wedding cake, just in time to take the microphone from Alex and give his speech as one of the groomsmen.

Hopefully by then, his smile will be more natural, his voice more than a quiet sob or a whisper of a curse under his breath, his eyes anything but how they must look now, puffy and red. Hopefully by then, he’s so tired from crying that he’ll have no energy left in him to be anything but happy for Ash and Eiji.

Hopefully by then, he’ll be okay again. Even just for a little while, just until he reaches that point again where he can’t take anything more.

Sing doesn’t know how long he spends curled up on the ground, but he can hear Ash’s voice in the air, low and sweet and so,  _ so  _ open. Sing can’t understand what he’s saying, can’t bring himself to  _ listen _ and try to parse Ash’s words, but he doesn’t need to. Ash’s tone is enough for him to know that he’s talking about Eiji to the small crowd of their friends, that he probably has a hand on the back of Eiji’s neck or on Eiji’s shoulder or clasped in Eiji’s hand, that he’s  _ happy _ .

Sing would cry, but he has no more tears to shed, no more energy to do anything but sit there and let Ash’s voice wash over him. The sky has turned a dark blue, and Sing is starting to feel how cold the ground is beneath him.

In a minute, he’ll get up.

He doesn’t.

His legs feel like jelly and his hands are still shaking. He’ll spill champagne all over himself if he goes back now. Then again, maybe that won’t be so bad; he’ll have an excuse to leave at least. But  _ no _ . He has to stay. He has to see this through.

When Ash finishes his speech, he’ll go back.

He doesn’t.

Sing can hear the hoots and the screams of the crowd. He doesn’t want to go back to the reception only to be faced with Ash and Eiji kissing. He  _ can’t _ . He doesn’t know if he can take it.

When the music starts up again, he’ll use it as an opportunity to slip back into the crowd.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t have any excuses this time. He just—

He just doesn’t want to go back yet. He doesn’t want to. He just wants to stay here until the end of the night. He just wants to pretend that he stepped out to sober himself up, that he ended up passing out and missing the rest of the reception.

He doesn’t have the courage right now to walk back in there and willingly subject himself to pain again. He will, eventually. He’ll get used to the wedding rings on their fingers and Ash’s new last name. He’ll get used to this new aspect of their relationship until it fades into the bigger picture, until Sing realizes that this was always going to be the end result no matter what.

He’ll allow himself back into their lives then, but for now—

For now, he’ll stay here on the cold, stone ground, and he’s going to let himself breathe.

If someone comes to find him, then he’ll go back. He’ll just say that he needed some fresh air, or that he wanted to avoid having to dance. Everyone attended the same dance rehearsal after all; everyone was a witness to Sing fumbling around on the dance floor, stepping all over the feet of whoever was unlucky enough to be assigned his partner until Ash and Eiji finally took pity on him and let him sit out.

Sing just doesn’t expect it to be Eiji who finds him.

“Sing? What are you doing here?”

Eiji is beautiful even in the dark. His smile is enough to light his whole world up, and Sing gets stuck for a moment, just staring up at him.

“Sing, are you drunk?” Eiji asks. He crouches down next to Sing, reaches out to hold Sing’s cheek in his palm. He tips Sing’s head up, leans in so their faces are only inches away from each other. Sing can see how long Eiji’s eyelashes are from here. The last time he remembers having the privilege of that was when he still slept over in Eiji’s apartment, when he’d still be the one shaking Eiji awake in the mornings.

“What happened?” Eiji asks, and now he slips his free hand under Sing’s elbow. And now his eyebrows knit together and Sing feels guilt flare in the pit of his stomach because Eiji shouldn’t be here, looking after him. Eiji should be back there with Ash. “Sing, come on. I need you to talk to me.”

Sing doesn’t know what to say. Everything that could reassure Eiji would be a lie. But that’s fine. Sing is used to lying.

“I’m fine,” Sing says. “Just drunk, I think.”

Well. Maybe he isn’t as good at lying as he thought, because Eiji’s eyes narrow and his lips press into a thin line and his grip tightens on Sing’s arm. His hand on Sing’s cheek remains gentle though, and Sing can’t help but lean into the touch.

“You’re drunk, yes, but that’s not it,” Eiji says. Then, he sighs, leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together. “I think you forget sometimes that I spent seven years with you too, Sing. I  _ know  _ you. I know what you look like after you cry.”

Sing really thought he had no tears left in his body, but hearing Eiji say that, having Eiji this close—

He barely recognizes his voice when he sobs into the air between them, barely realizes he’s crying again until Eiji is already running a hand up and down his arm, until Eiji is already shushing him, telling him, “You’re okay, Sing. I’m here. Let it out.”

The words are meant to be comforting, but Sing can’t help the thoughts that flash in his mind, edged with bitterness.  _ He doesn’t mean it. Tomorrow, he’ll be gone. Tomorrow, he’ll be in the arms of the person he belongs with. _

Sing wants to push Eiji away, wants to ask Eiji to stop, wants to tell Eiji that he can go on ahead back to the party and that he’ll follow along in a little while. But Sing doesn’t, because he’s selfish and he’s greedy and he’s willing to take what he can of this moment before Eiji becomes Ash-and-Eiji.

Sing takes the comfort that Eiji gives him, uses it to build his defenses up, brick by brick. He’ll be fine. He’ll be okay. He can get through this.

“I’m fine now,” he says eventually, and it doesn’t taste like a lie.

He pulls away from Eiji so he can stand up, and it doesn’t feel like a waste. Not much anyway.

He helps Eiji up too, but even when they’re both already standing, Eiji doesn’t let go of his hand. Sing could pull away. He  _ could _ , but he doesn’t. Eiji’s touch is like a brand onto his skin, and he lets it burn him.

“You’re not going to tell me what happened?” Eiji asks.

Sing swallows against the lump in his throat, says, “It’s fine, Eiji. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Eiji doesn’t believe him; Sing can see it plainly in his eyes. It’s alright though. He’ll continue to pretend until Eiji can only either force a straight answer out of him or let the issue go like Sing so obviously wants. It’s Eiji’s wedding night after all; he has better things to do than comfort Sing.

Sing tries not to be too disappointed when Eiji finally sighs and nods.

“You missed dinner and the speeches, you know. Bones had to take over your slot for you, and you know how he is when he’s drunk out of his mind,” Eiji says, and yes, Sing does know. He knows that Bones is a loud drunk, an incoherent drunk, and he can only imagine how long and nonsensical his speech must have been.

“I’m glad I missed it, then,” Sing says. Somehow, the curve of his lips doesn’t feel forced.

This is good. This is  _ good _ . He thinks that he can go back now. Maybe.

“Come on,” Sing says. He tugs himself away from Eiji, lets his hand fall away from Eiji’s hold. “We should go back. Ash must be looking for you.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Eiji says. “I told him I’d go look for you.”

Sing bites his tongue, takes a beat to reply because there’s a question on the tip of his tongue he isn’t sure he wants the answer to.

_ Why? _

_ Why did you want to look for me? _

_ Why did you even notice I was gone? _

_ Why did you leave Ash’s side to find me? _

There’s hope threatening to burst in Sing’s chest. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want a taste of it only to have it slip through his fingers before he can even savor it.

So Sing doesn’t reply. He just nods, just forces his legs to move and leads the way back to the party.

He tries not to think about Eiji trailing behind him, about how he must look, about what Ash must think about all this. It’s hard, though, especially that last one. He knows how Ash is when someone tries to separate him and Eiji. He’s heard Ash scream Eiji’s name again and again and again until he couldn’t anymore. He saw Ash empty his barrel into the man who had the audacity to shoot Eiji.

Sing doesn’t want to be the subject of Ash’s cold, righteous anger. He doesn’t want to have Ash’s gun to his head, Ash’s knife to his throat, Ash’s fists to his face.

More than that, though, Sing just doesn’t want to lose Ash’s trust. He doesn’t want to live in a world where he isn’t Ash’s friend, where he can’t just pick up his phone and ask Ash for advice on anything and everything that could cross his mind. He doesn’t want to hurt Ash, doesn’t want to be included in the long,  _ long _ list of people who have taken a boy like Ash and forced him into becoming someone deadly.

Sing may not love Ash like he loves Eiji, but he respects Ash. He doesn’t know the Ash that Eiji knows; he can only infer from the glimpses he’s caught of Ash when he’s with Eiji, from the pictures Eiji took of him, from the stories Eiji used to tell Sing in the middle of the night, when their loneliness and their grief had them by the throats and the only way to breathe was to  _ remember _ .

Sing has an image of Ash in his head he could love, an image of Ash who looks at him with kind eyes, who relaxes around him. Maybe it’s not so different from the Ash Sing knows, really—the Ash who killed his best friend before he could be defiled, dirtied, desecrated, the Ash who took the blame for Shorter’s death because he knew that having Sing tell his boys the truth would be even worse than believing the lie he had to take the brunt of, the Ash who was ready to sacrifice his body and his sanity if it meant that the people he cared about were safe.

Still. There’s something about Eiji’s Ash that is more open, more mellow, just  _ more _ .

Sometimes Sing thinks about that Ash and thinks,  _ ah _ , thinks,  _ I understand why Eiji is so in love with him _ , thinks,  _ I could fall in love with him too if he let me _ . But Ash never would, because why would he? Why would he when he already has Eiji?

When Sing finally steps back into the fray, he can’t help the way his eyes immediately find Ash, sitting in his chair, head bowed next to Max who’s temporarily claimed Eiji’s seat. Sing sees the moment Ash realizes that Eiji’s back, sees the moment Ash’s eyes seem to take in every detail of Eiji and Sing in slow motion, sees the moment Ash’s eyes soften, the moment his lips curl upwards into a small smile, the moment he inclines his head at them before turning back to Max.

And Sing—

Sing doesn’t know what it means. Sing doesn’t understand why Ash didn’t do anything more, why Ash seems to trust Sing with Eiji.

Sing is good at pretending. He’s had to get better at acting like he’s okay, like he’s not in love with Eiji, like he’s alright coming home to a house that doesn’t have Eiji in it. But the problem is that Ash is better. Ash has had his entire life to learn, to recognize the sign of it in others. Sing has no doubt that Ash can see right through him, which is why he’s always been conscious of the way he acts around Ash. But the thing is—

The thing is that Ash has never brought it up. He’s never talked to Sing about it, never asked Sing to confirm it, never told Sing to back away. And Sing doesn’t know why, can’t understand why Ash has never just cornered him and told him to give up and move on.

Maybe Ash is being kind. Maybe he’s just so confident in his and Eiji’s relationship that it doesn’t matter what Sing feels. Maybe Ash just doesn’t care—

No, he does. Of course he does. He’s Ash. He cares; he always has, even when he shouldn’t.

But no, this isn’t the time to think about it. Sing just needs to find a corner to himself and drink his heart out. He needs to forget, needs to find something to do that isn’t crying in the dark or being close to Eiji.

He’s about to walk away, about to go to the bar so he can get himself a drink, but then there’s a hand around his wrist, a body pressed up against his arm.

“You owe me a dance, Sing,” Eiji says, and Sing can’t help the way his heart jumps in his chest because Eiji is looking up at him, eyes crinkled and lips curled up into a smile.

“You know I’m a bad dancer,” Sing says, but it hardly matters when Eiji’s already pulling him to the dance floor.

“It’s simple,” Eiji says. He places his hands on Sing’s shoulders, closes the distance between them until his cheek is pressed against Sing’s chest. “Your hands on my waist, Sing. Come on.”

Sing has no other choice but to comply, reaches out with shaking hands and places them on Eiji’s waist, just like Eiji said.

Eiji clicks his tongue, looks up at Sing with the same exasperation Sing saw when he and Buddy would come home covered in mud and dirt after what was only supposed to be a walk around the neighborhood that turned into a wrestling match at the park. Sing feels his breath catch, feels something painful jumpstart in his chest.

“You can hold me tighter, Sing. I’m not a china doll,” Eiji says.

“I know you’re not,” Sing says, because he does. Because Eiji is one of the strongest people he knows. Because he couldn’t imagine anything that could break Eiji, especially now that he has Ash by his side again.

Eiji’s smile is like a thousand suns. Brighter even.

“Then hold me tighter, Sing.”

Sing does.

He lets himself get lost in Eiji’s eyes, in Eiji’s warmth, in Eiji’s everything. He barely hears the music, barely registers anything but Eiji, who is right in front of him, demanding his attention like a sun demands its planets to revolve around it.

Sing wants to stay in this moment forever, wants to pretend that this is something he gets to have. But the world doesn’t stop spinning for Sing.

Suddenly, there is Ash. His hands brush against Sing’s as they settle on Eiji’s hips, just below Sing’s fingers. His hair brushes against Sing’s neck, tickles what of Sing’s skin is exposed to the chilly night breeze when he bends down to press a kiss to Eiji’s neck, right on his pulse point.

“You’ve been dancing for three songs now,” Ash says. His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it rings in Sing’s ears. “Aren’t you tired?”

“A little,” Eiji admits, and Sing hates the way his heart sinks, hates the way he wants to hold onto Eiji and not let go, hates the way he wants to beg Ash,  _ give me more time, let me stay a little longer, please, please _ .

Ash starts to tug Eiji away and there’s nothing Sing can do but stand there and let it happen. He doesn’t even know what expression is on his face anymore, doesn’t know if he’s managed to paste a smile across his lips or if the pain that’s once again steadily building up in his chest is showing in his expression.

He lets his hands fall from Eiji’s waist. He lets Eiji go.

And maybe this is it. Maybe this is the final time he’ll allow himself to imagine, to pretend, to wonder. Maybe after this, he could try and move on. Maybe—

Hah.

Even just thinking about it, Sing already doubts it.

He’s starting to understand Eiji better now. Eiji couldn’t let Ash go even when he was supposed to be dead. Now, Sing can’t let them go even when they’ve already gone and married each other.

Well. This is the path he chose. He’s the one stupidly in love enough that he willingly lets himself linger around Ash and Eiji when he’s better off letting himself heal.

At this point, Sing might as well be ready to die with this weight on his chest because he can’t imagine a version of himself not chasing after Ash and Eiji, not looking in on them from afar.

Except—

Except Eiji’s hand is around his wrist again. Except Eiji is pulling him along with him and Ash. Except Eiji isn’t giving Sing a chance to step back and let them go.

“Eiji?” Sing says. “Ash?”

But his voice is too small, unsure, and Eiji only looks back at him to smile.

Sing was so ready. He was  _ so  _ ready, but one smile from Eiji and his resolve crumbles into dust.

There are only two seats in Ash and Eiji’s table, two seats for two husbands. Somehow, Sing ends up in Eiji’s seat and Eiji ends up on Ash’s lap.

“Are you feeling better, Sing?” Ash asks. Not Eiji.  _ Ash _ .

There’s concern in the crease between Ash’s eyebrows, uncertainty in the twist of his mouth. Sing doesn’t  _ understand _ .

He opens his mouth to answer, but there’s  _ nothing _ . His mind is in overdrive, unable to process anything more than what he already has.

“We were really worried. You just disappeared so suddenly,” Eiji says, and it’s too much,  _ too much _ .

When Eiji reaches out, Sing can’t help the way he jerks backwards because he  _ can’t _ —

He’s so confused, so wary of the hope that’s taken shape in his chest, filling the gaps and holes in his broken heart.

“Why?” Sing asks.

Eiji has backed away, gone back to where he was, melted into Ash beneath him. “Why what?”

Sing’s eyebrows furrow. “Why would you—”

But he cuts himself off. He doesn’t know what he wants to ask. There are too many questions swimming around in his brain, he doesn’t—

“Why would we care about you? Why would we come looking for you?” Ash wraps his arms around Eiji’s middle, but somehow, when he looks at Sing over Eiji’s shoulder, his eyes are kind. “Is that it, Sing?”

Sing swallows against the lump in his throat, nods.

“Because we care about you,” Ash says. As if it’s that simple.

“Because I’m your friend,” Sing says.

“Yes,” Eiji says, and it’s  _ so hard _ to look at him right now. “But also because you’re important to us.”

Sing clenches his jaw. “Yes. Because I’m your friend.”

“Sing,” Ash says, and Sing recognizes that tone. It’s the same tone Ash would sometimes use on him years ago, when he had years of experience as a boss that Sing didn’t have, when he’d run out of patience and he just wanted Sing to stop and listen. Sing doesn’t appreciate hearing it again now that he’s in his mid-twenties.

He gathers up what’s left of his dignity and stands up, says, “It’s fine. Thank you for looking for me. I appreciate it.”

“Sing.” Eiji’s hand is on his wrist once again. Sing shouldn’t—he  _ shouldn’t _ , but he pauses, lets himself listen to what Eiji has to say. “Don’t leave.”

Sing wants to be angry, wants to have the tears back, wants to feel anything but this stupid, senseless hope that’s taking over his heart.

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m not leaving. I’m just letting myself get left behind.”

“We don’t want you to,” Ash says, and now his hand is above Eiji’s, holding Sing back too. “Because we care about you. Because you’re important to us.”

Sing lets himself look, lets his defenses down, lets himself see the sincerity in Ash’s eyes and hear the steel in his voice.  _ We _ ,  _ us _ . All these words from Ash, who didn’t spend seven years with Sing, who only knows Sing from  _ before _ , from the memories that Eiji must have recounted to him from the time he was gone.

And Sing thinks,  _ ah _ , thinks,  _ I understand now _ , thinks,  _ Maybe he could fall in love with me too if I let him. _

He relaxes, lets Ash and Eiji pull him towards them.

  
  
  


The next morning, Sing finds an envelope on his bedside table. Inside is a ticket to Japan with his name on it, set to fly out later that afternoon.

Sing doesn’t waste it.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [twitter](http://twitter.com/singeiji) or [tumblr](http://singeiji.tumblr.com)!!!!


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